


The Fragrance of a Moon Orchid

by nuttyasafruitcake



Series: The Forest Is Burning, Drench It In Gasoline [7]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Flowers, M/M, Moon Orchids, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Than The Usual Identifying Methods, a bit different
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-24
Updated: 2016-07-15
Packaged: 2018-05-23 00:49:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6099400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nuttyasafruitcake/pseuds/nuttyasafruitcake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She had smiled warmly at him. At his ignorance, he later discovered. "Harry, lovely," A soft, warm breath on his skin. He still wondered what scent it must have had. "The ability to experience the fragrances of our world doesn't come at a certain age. It's not connected to you. It's an ability, a small piece of a puzzle, that only can be discovered by meeting a special person."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. An Orchid, A Painful Reminder

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, and I'm not J. K. Rowling. I earn nothing from writing this; it is merely for my own amusement.
> 
> A/N: Okay, I'm supposed to update my other stories, but I've had the worst writer's block in years, so I'm combating it by writing this two-shot. I've wanted to write a soulmate AU for a long time, so when I saw the Soulmate!Au Challenge at Harry Potter Fanfiction Challenges I took the opportunity to write one.
> 
> In this universe, no one is born with the ability to smell. However, they do taste, since it is, I've researched, possible to taste things without being able to smell. However, the taste of food and such is not experienced with the same intensity as we, who can smell normally, experience in our daily life.
> 
> Warning: This chapter hasn't been beta read, so I apologise for any mistakes. If you notice anything, please let me know and I'll correct it.
> 
> Enjoy!

**_The Fragrance of a Moon Orchid_ **

— ø Ø ø —

He could still remember it. The last time his mother kissed his forehead.

She had been sitting at his bedside, smiling gently at him. Red hair visible through the darkness, taking the shape of a glowing halo. She was beautiful. Soft, life-giving and overflowing with kindness. And in the mind of a child, she had been immortal. Changeless.

Warm fingers had brushed through his messy hair, a futile attempt at controlling something they both knew was uncontrollable.  _Much like you_ , she had whispered. He had stared up at the ceiling, lost in trying to imagine how a fragrance would be experienced. It had, and still was, a mystery to him.

He had stared up at the ceiling, lost in trying to imagine how a fragrance would be experienced. It had, and still was, a mystery to him.

"Mom, when am I old enough to begin to smell things?" He had asked in wonder.

She had smiled warmly at him. At his ignorance, he later discovered. "Harry, lovely," A soft, warm breath on his skin. He still wondered what scent it must have had. "The ability to experience the fragrances of our world doesn't come at a certain age. It's not connected to you. It's an ability, a small piece of a puzzle, that only can be discovered by meeting a special person."

"When?"

"Right now, your world may be like a moon orchid, beautiful but without fragrance. However, soon it'll transform into a field of flowers. Just have patience." His beloved mother had whispered and bowed down to kiss him on the forehead. For the last time.

— ø Ø ø —

The orchid's white petals stood out like a ghost in the dark room. Illuminating the counter at the end of the shop together with a dozen other orchids. It made a bizarre sight for customers shopping at Scribbulus Writing Implements. After all, they had not entered the shop in look for flowers, no matter how beautiful they were, but for writing implements in all varieties. The orchid also posed as an unbearable reminder for some. ' _Come over here, smell me, if you can.'_ Taunting their inability to smell, because few knew that a moon orchid was, in fact, a scentless flower.

Harry breathed out in satisfaction, forest green eyes carefully studying the masterpieces in front of him. They were blooming wonderfully. So well, that he began to consider if it was time to add another to his personal flower shop. He glanced around the room and nodded in thought. There was certainly enough space to add a few more, and the owner didn't mind as long as he kept them nurtured, pleasant to the eye and away from the writing equipment.

"Excuse me," A hoarse, masculine voice broke the silence and Harry glanced up in surprise. Stepping back, he lifted his arm from the counter and straightened his back to greet the customer with a pleasant smile. "Yes, how can I help you?"

As his eyes roamed over the figure in front of him, he momentarily forgot his white obsession at the counter. Harry had expected an elderly man because the voice that had greeted him had the familiar sound of a decaying voice, with small cracks in-between every word and an underlying indication of deep knowledge. However, now that he further studied the man, he could see no sign of aging. No, he could be no older than his late 20s, maybe early 30s.

A slim body and pale skin, giving Harry the impression that the man was the studious type. He could neither be considered tall not short, but his lean figure did give him the advantage of seeming taller than he, in actuality, was. Yes, now that Harry further studied the man, he had to agree with himself that he was more than pleasing to the eye. Dark brown hair carefully swept back and mahogany eyes. Lips forming incomprehensible words.  _Wait_. "Wait, I'm sorry, could you please repeat that, Mr…?" Harry dug his nails into his palm, feeling his ears heat up in embarrassment.

The man glanced unimpressed down at him, before sighing. "Riddle," He replied, and placed a quill, that he probably had been holding the last minutes, on the counter. "I am wondering whether you still have this model."

Harry picked it up, expecting one of the recent designs. After several minutes of close studying, he exhaled in confusion and looked back at Riddle. "When did you buy this?"

"I bought it… about 20 years ago, I believe."

The answer prompted another careful analysis of the man's age because the man couldn't be more than 30 years old. Harry glanced down at the quill, concluding that he must have bought it as a child. However, this model was specifically designed for an adult hand. His eyebrows furrowed in indecision and he pursed his lips. "I'll be right back."

When he returned from the storage room with a variety of boxes, Riddle sighed in defeat. "I would have loved to get the same model, but if it is out of production then I would rather have something similar, so please do not consider the one with everlasting ink. I find it mildly annoying, there are too many malfunctions with those types of quills."

Harry shook his head as he placed different models down at the counter. "Actually, most of the problems connected with everlasting ink quills have been solved, so you no longer have to worry about it suddenly spilling ink all over your paper. Would you still not consider it?"

"No, I am rather old-fashioned at heart, so, even without its flaws, it is nothing for me. Simple as that." As he spoke his eyes roamed across the room, until they fell upon the orchids occupying the sides of the counter. "Orchids are very aesthetic, I must say… But, I do not find myself capable of enjoying their beauty as much as I would have liked to. It reminds me too much of my inability to experience their fragrance." His voice was sharp, almost loathing, and Harry found himself momentarily stunned by the man's hostility against his obsession.

Swallowing, he murmured. "They don't have a scent…"

Riddle leaned closer to the flowers, studying them while murmuring. "Oh, really?"

"Or so I've been told. " Harry added silently, feeling his own self-pity and loathing surface.

Their eyes met and for a single infinite moment, they were nothing more than two human beings sharing a common suffering. A collective misery.

"My mother said that the world around us, who cannot smell, is like a moon orchid. It is a world without fragrance, just like these orchids. However, when we meet that particular person it transforms into a field of flowers." It had been unintentional to dig into such a problematic topic, but now that he had begun, Harry was incapable of controlling his foolish mouth. "Yes, the wonderful and various aromas of our world all blooms when we meet our soulmate." And he had to stumble and use the romanticized and slightly frowned upon term given to everyone's special someone. Swallowing, Harry hurriedly picked up one of the boxes and opened it slowly while whispering. "I apologize, that was insensitive,"

Riddle shook his head, smiling bitterly. "Ignorance is bliss, boy," He glances down at his watch and purses his lips in displeasure. "It seems time is running away from me. Please, which model would you recommend?"

"Well," he glanced at the boxes, "most of the models I've found do have similar qualities to your old quill, but I wouldn't recommend any of these. While they're based on the old models, they don't always work well and some have a habit of changing the color of the ink. However, you could try this design, it's our oldest. If it doesn't work well, then you just have to return it. We take returns as long as they're not used too much, a maximum of 2 days, I believe."

"I will try it out," Riddle replied in thought. "Thank you for your help." He whispered, dropped the payment in Harry's hands and strolling out the door. Gone before Harry managed to utter another word.

Harry stood still, staring at the closed door. The coins in his palm were cold with a touch of heat from Riddle's own hand. Yes, this was probably how a scent would be experienced, like heat and cold. Every time slightly different and extraordinary.

Now that he considered it, a moon orchid must have some kind of fragrance. Non-Fragrance must be a fragrance too. There must be a scent experienced as the absence of scent. Or maybe not, it was impossible for him to say.

He gripped the coins tightly, feeling hard metal bite into his skin. His heart broke in longing and suddenly he felt cheated, like a possibility had slipped through his fingers.

 _'_ _You never know who, not until your hearts touch and heated skin meet skin. An atomic explosion and the world collapses… ' His mother had whispered years earlier, long before her death._

— ø Ø ø —

_To be continued._

_Please leave a review on your way out.:)_


	2. Two Orchids, An Excruciating Passion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, and I'm obviously not J. K. Rowling. Nothing is earned from writing this.
> 
> A/N: So, I mentioned earlier that this was supposed to be a two-shot, but that's no longer the case. It'll have three chapters in all. I do hope that isn't a problem for any of you.;D
> 
> Many thanks to my beta, PotionsMistressOfRavenclaw! She's been extremely helpful by removing my grammar and spelling mistakes.
> 
> Enjoy!

**The Fragnance of a Moon Orchid**

_— **ø Ø ø** —_

His current circumstances were depressing to consider.

They had bloomed into existence, slowly. They crept up as Harry had made choices that, at the time, had considered well-grounded and logical. However, in retrospect, he could clearly see that they were no one's creation but his own. And no matter how desperately he tried to blame everyone else, particularly his father, it did nothing to soothe his frustrations.

After graduating from one of the most prestigious school on the continent, Harry had been offered apprenticeship by a spellcrafter. An offer that had prompted outrage and confusion. Nonetheless, Harry was never able to step physically inside the Master's halls. Only his letter of decline had made it into a representative's hands.

At the time it had seemed like a reasonable choice. One of honor and principle. After all, his father had been deteriorating, both mentally and physically, after his mother's death and no longer left the house at all. Unless it was to spend hours in the garden, staring off distastefully at the sunset, when he felt particularly able.

At the time, Lily had been dead for almost 8 years.

Harry had and still felt that he was responsible for his father. Accountable for the actions of a man, who desired little else than to waste away. James would disintegrate within a month, should he ever leave. Together with a dozen bottles of Muggle vodka and cigarettes.

Sighing, Harry glanced down at the shovel in his hand. Cold, biting metal, a painful reminder of the damage such an instrument could achieve. However, not today. At this very day, it would be moving with the intention to assist a dying flower.

His mother had taught him the importance of using Muggle instruments when trying to nurture a garden. Magic was marvelous, but when swinging a wand there were no connection physical between the hand and the action. Oh, how their garden had bloomed as their hands and nails blackened with dirt. Said garden was withering garden at the moment without the love physical touch provided.

There were various flowers in the Ministry's garden, diverse in shapes and color. The only thing missing was the fragrance of the grass underneath his feet. A missing piece to complete the experience. Lily had once whispered to him, that grass held a fragrance much similar to its color.  _Fresh and clean, comfortable, but somewhat bitter._

Carefully avoiding the vulnerable petals of colorful flowers, Harry stepped up to the pure, white orchids gathered in their midst.

Not hesitating and skillfully ignoring the stares, Harry began to dig up the moon orchids. There were two of them, standing horribly close. The two beauties stood so close together it was difficult to see where one flower began and the other stopped.

"What do you think you are doing, boy?" It startled him. He had not expected anyone to voice their disapproval of his actions. Most thought themselves above sharing words with him.

Harry glanced over his shoulder, to see the same handsome face that had greeted him a few months ago at the shop. Mr. Riddle was majestic. The array of flowers in every shape and shade only added to his beauty. However, not as much as the several moon orchids in the shop had done.

"Removing two orchids…" Harry replied, unsure of how to approach the man. "What does it look like I'm doing, Mr. Riddle?" It had slipped from his mouth. Swallowing, he hurriedly murmured. "I apologize, that came out harsher than I had intended."

"No doubt," Riddle retorted, staring down at him. "You do know it's quite foolish, if not illegal, to destroy the Ministry's garden?"

"I'm aware," Harry replied, eyes caressing the smooth petals. "But these flowers will die anyway if they remain, so I've come to the conclusion that removal is a better fate than death." Whoever had planted the flowers clearly knew nothing about Harry's beloved obsessions. They'd survive for a while, without a doubt. However, the weather was too shifting, too cold and hostile to create an inhabitable environment for the orchids. "They'll meet better days at the shop," It was intended for the flowers, a soft whisper, and a promise of better days to come. An oath to give a better life. If he decayed and withered in his current environment, then at least a couple of orchids could be saved from the same fate.

Riddle was staring critically at Harry, eyes piercing in intensity. "I certainly hope so, Mr…?"

Harry's stare sharpened and his lips thinned. Of course, the look Riddle had sent his way had been an attempt to find traits known to specific houses. He abhorred how every single person in the wizarding community felt the need to cultivate the importance of blood and ancestry. "Potter. Harry, Potter." He replied coldly.

Nodding, Riddle smiled. A cold and cutting smile, intended to injure petals and dreams. "And why is a wizard of - somewhat - noble blood spending his day in a lowly shop at the corner of Diagon Alley?" It cut deep. "Yes, I've heard of you, Potter."

"Really?" Harry replied slowly, feeling the ground shake beneath him. The man had made a good impression the first time, merely because few words had been shared between them. However, now, the more words flowed out of his smooth lips the less Harry wanted to be in his presence. An attractive man with sharp words was dangerous, intriguing. Magnificent.

Harry felt a sudden impulse to run.

Riddle bared his teeth in what probably was meant to be a gentle smile. "Yes, we all know of the Potter family… and its fate," He stepped forward and Harry felt a sharp sizzle run through his body. "And of you, as an extension." Closer, another step. "You were approached by one of the most prestigious spell crafters in the entire continent, were you not? He offered you something quite impressive." Riddle was so close now, that if he desired so, then he could reach out and touch Harry. Leaning forward, he stared deeply into Harry's forest green eyes, before murmuring quietly. "His knowledge." The words were simple, but the importance, the power, of such a gift was clear.

"Yes, he did…" Harry replied slowly, his thoughts centered on the fact that if he had the gift of fragrance then surely he would have been able to experience the man's personal aroma.

_"You, my sweet child, have a pleasant fragrance, much similar to the smell that accompanies the first rain after a long period of warm, dry weather. Like petrichor, I would say." Lily would croon._

"Yet, you refused," Riddle continued, staring down at Harry in interest, whom long since had forgotten about the orchids. "It amuses me, intrigues me even, I must admit."

Swallowing, Harry managed to furrow his eyebrows in annoyance. "I had better things to do."

"Better things to do…" The man parroted, mockingly. "Taking care of your alcoholic father, who's been drowning his sorrows for the last century?" A hot flare burst up inside Harry. "A quite important task." Riddle was mocking the choices he had taken in his life.

"…" How dare he believe he had any right to criticize Harry? "What I choose to do with my life is fully up to me!" He snarled, angry that the man had struck a chord. Furious that he had no wish to leave the man's presence.

"It is," Riddle answered. "But, in my opinion, your talents and," Bowing down, he brought his face down to Harry's. If Harry just tipped his head forward, their skin would touch. "Your magical core is wasted on such choices."

"I-" Harry began, but his thoughts were a jumbled mess. What could he say? The anger had not faded, but the overpowering impulse to lean forward, to touch the man, was concerning and confusing.

"No, don't bother pushing your frustrations on me," Riddle murmured. "I'd say someone else is much more deserving of them." Yes, there were. However, none of them seemed to pay much attention to the conversation at this point. Both staring deep into each other eyes. Riddle's intense, bloody eyes scrutinizing, slightly confused was staring down into Harry's bewildered orbs.

Sighing, Riddle straightened up, dissatisfaction pulling at his lips. He opened his mouth, but instead of voicing his thoughts Riddle only nodded at Harry before he stalked off without another word. An unexpected move. After such proximity, Harry felt injured by the man's sudden desertion.

Harry was left frozen to the ground. Unable to gather the power to feel angry. Something had happened, or nearly happened. Once again, Harry had tried to gather water in his palms and failed. It had slipped between his fingers, run down his wrists and soaked his shirt.

He glanced down at the shovel, looming over the two orchids, like an inevitable doom waiting to happen.

_It's a powerful curse, a gift in some ways. When you first smell, the world will crumble._

_— **ø Ø ø** —_

**_To be continued._ **


	3. Three Orchids, A Snowy Landscape

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter to A Fragnance of a Moon Orchid, hope you'll enjoy it! XD
> 
> Warning: Character death, not Harry's or Tom's. Implicit Suicide.

**The Fragrance of a Moon Orchid**

**— ø Ø ø —**

The house was lit when Harry returned that day, which is unusual. Normally, James kept the lights off and the curtains closed. A coffin for the half dead and it's only visitor Harry, who was slowly decaying along with his father.

It's a slow process, one of self-loathing, hatred, and they both knew. James had chosen to slowly, but surely take his own life. How could he not? After his beloved, beautiful wife had taken her last breath. He had decided that she, too, desired for their reunion.

And now, a couple of weeks after, Harry had met Riddle for the second time. He was standing in front of a fully lightened up house, the garden had been moved down, colorful flowers planted along the pathway up to the door. There were no black curtain in sight, only a slow steady light emanating from the house.

It took his breath away and Harry could only stand there for several seconds, staring, before the panic kicked in.

Throwing the newly purchased newspaper at the lawn, Harry sprinted up to the front door, throwing it open, it wasn't locked, and stepped inside, cold sweat forming. His heart was pumping, legs were feeling numb, he viewed the house in its entirety.

Pictures, long forgotten at the attic, were returned to their rightful place. His mother was now covering the walls with her smile and presence, Harry felt frozen. The soft layer of dust was gone and in its wake lay clean carpets and small child toys. His old toys.

He was dizzy, lost, as he moved through the house. Towards the kitchen, where he could see flickering candles. Throwing shadows and danger thorough the rooms.

It was fully lightened. Black curtains changed to a light blue. No half eaten and muggen plates with food was left at the table. In its stead stood a dinner for four. A large, heated chicken with vegetables and sauce. The color of his mothers caramel pudding taking too much space at the table.

Harry was frightened, his breath coming out in quick pants.

Slowly pushing himself though the kitchen, trying not to look upon the inviting sight, he called out. "James…" Knowing fully that he would not get an answer. James never said anything, not anymore. "Father." Harry had stopped calling James 'Father' directly to his face shortly after Lily died.

The door into his parents room was closed, it always was. James hadn't stepped into that room since she had disappeared from their lives. However, now a soft light shone from underneath the door.

Swallowing, Harry placed his hand upon the handle. He was gripped by terror from the entire experience, the house had transformed into a memory, something that no longer existed.

He pushed the handle down, and closed his eyes momentarily, before he opened the door.

And there he was, James, his father lying at the bed. The white sheets had been colored with a burgundy red, a grotesque, but beautiful color when mixed with the pure, white sheets.

It reminded Harry of that one time he had nicked his finger, and bled upon the leaves of a moon orchid.

**— ø Ø ø —**

"I heard James Potter took his final breath, Mr. Potter" Riddle muttered as he stepped into the shop, drawing Harry's attention away from the orchids. "Or should I say Lord Potter?" It was probably meant to be aggravating, but Harry couldn't muster up the energy to care.

"I have no interest in being a Lord…" He replied. "None at all."

Sighing, Riddle closed the door behind him. "You should."

"Yes, because it gives me a political position; power," Harry snapped, moving behind the counter, letting it act as one final shield between him and the world. A counter filled to the brim with orchids. _Overwhelming in their whiteness._

The other man didn't seem impressed by Harry's hostility. "I understand that your father's death has been… horrifying, but-"

"Horrifying?" Harry laughed out loud. A broken, twisted laugh created from anger and frustration. "You think I'm 'horrified' at my father's death?" He leaned over the counter, resting at his elbows, unconsciously pushing the various pots of orchids into each other. One, in particular, closer to the edge. An ugly gleam entered his eyes. "That's what I've been telling myself the last years, but it couldn't be farther from the truth. My… _Father_ was a drunkard, a horribly selfish man who - ever since my mother died - has tried to kill himself!" He smashed his fist into the counter, his flesh stinging in pain. The suppressed rage he had kept for years had lost its reins along with James's death.

"I've made horrible choices for myself, I know it. You didn't have to tell me, Mr. Riddle. I'm a disgusting, sadistic human being. You want to know why?" Harry's eyes were blank, but he knew no tears would fall, not anymore. "In the end the only way I could punish my father for his… _selfishness_ was to deny him what he desired the most! Death… He could drink, smoke, do anything he wished for, but to die… No, I've stopped him countless of times. First because I loved him and later because I despised him…"

_There is a fine borderline between love and hate, my dear._

Riddle was standing still, breathing steadily and evenly.

Why had the man returned? They had nothing in common, nothing at all. However, somehow, ever since they'd met, something had pulled at their core. A silent, subconscious impulse to reach out for the other. It was without logic.

Harry swallowed harshly, unsure of what had made him voice his nasty thoughts. His biggest shame; a secret he had intended to take with him into the grave. "You-" He began, slowly, before halting.

Riddle broke eye contact as he began to walk up to the counter. He didn't halt in front of it, but rather came up on the side, so he was standing right in front of Harry. "You are a dangerous man, Mr. Potter." He murmured. "I don't like the power you have over me."

His eyes were gleaming. "Give me a reason, as to why I shouldn't dispose of you?"

Harry's throat was dry, his pulse had picked up, but he didn't feel afraid. Not as frightened as he ought to be.

"I don't have one-" He replied as he leaned into the counter, head swimming in confusion, uncertainty.

It was the last push.

One of the orchids had been pushed closer and closer to the edge the entire evening, and now there was nothing to stop gravity from doing its duty.

The orchid did the only thing it could do.

Fall.

Harry inhaled sharply, noticing the pot tipping. Reaching out in panic, desperate to save the falling beauty, he failed to realize that Riddle, too, had acted to catch the flower.

It was chaotic and happen too fast for any of them to realize what transpired. All Harry could feel was a sharp, heavy sting as his head met Riddle's chin. A network of nerves exploded and dark spots appeared behind his eyes. Somewhere in the distance he heard the pot crash into the floor, porcelain breaking and flying over the floor.

The taste of chocolate and hazelnut, of earthly tones and shattering tastes presented itself. Overpowering and incredible. However, Harry _hadn't_ eaten anything the last hours. A chaotic, horrifying clash of incomprehension. Nothing made sense, the world had fallen apart and Harry was left to pick up the pieces, but none of them fit the way he desired them to.

Slowly, Harry became aware over the fact that he was sitting at the floor. Face pressed gently against something with an sense of sharpness, cleanliness. A shirt. Heat blossomed as he took in his surroundings. The other man was embracing him in a cage of two strong arms. Harsh puffs of breath blew into his hair, and Harry, once again, noticed the _sense_ of something that wasn't quite taste.

"You've given me a good reason, I must say." It was a dark, possessive tone. One of wonder and madness.

The _smell_ of him was out of this world.

_A world filled with fragrance for the first time is a world of chaos._

Blinking, Harry reached out for the moon orchid at the floor, picking it up without paying attention to its wellbeing. He had one goal in mind. Bringing it up to his nose, Harry inhaled deeply, closing his eyes.

Nothing.

A sense of something, but in its entirety there was no fragrance to be found.

Harry glanced up at Tom. "Ignorance is bliss, was it?"

"It was," Tom replied. No more words were exchanged.

It was set in stone and nothing could break, whatever bond they'd just acquired.

For better or for worse.

_However, remember, Harry, that finding your soulmate doesn't fix anything else than your ability to smell._

**— ø Ø ø —**

**The End**


End file.
